Page 141 of House of Dusk
“This man,” said Lacheron, sweeping a grand gesture to the king, “is no one.”
Sephre wished she could take pleasure in the look on Hierax’s face. The slow crumbling of those arrogant walls, the ones he’d held so fast around him all this time. But she did not dare take her eyes off the Heron, as he stalked closer and closer to the sputtering king.
“No great leader. No hero reborn. Only a fool of a man. And soon, not even that.”
He moved faster than her eyes could follow, snatching Letheko from the king. Hierax gaped, only managing to draw a single shocked breath before Lacheron stabbed the blade neatly into his chest.
It was the opportunity Sephre needed. Two of the soldiers let their spears lower, watching in horror as their king toppled, as blood spurted.
She kicked out the knee of one man, grabbing his spear. Then swung it in a sharp, solid arc, slamming the other soldier across the side of his helm. The blow shuddered up into her arms. She leapt past them.
Lacheron had turned away from the dying king. Now, he pointed the bloody tip of the dagger toward the imprisoned Phoenix.
“A shame,” he said. “I would have spared the girl, if I could. Her visions have been most helpful. But you claimed her, as I knew you would. You could not resist one touched as she.”
The Phoenix regarded him steadily from within her prison.You can still choose another path, Ember King. My eldest brother makes sweet promises, but he cares nothing for you. Nothing for this world. He will devour it all.
“Good,” snarled Lacheron, a sudden fury twisting his lips, darkening his eyes. “This world was broken long before the cataclysm. When the plague came it took half my people. Do you know why they called me the Ember King? Because that was what I ruled. A dying empire. A world turning to ash before my eyes. And I did everything I could to stop it. I cast myself down at your shrines. I begged you to burn away the illness. I begged the Beetle to give succor, for the Sphinx to bless our physicians with the knowledge of a cure, for the Serpent not to take any more innocents. But you did not answer. None of you.” He spat. “You don’t deserve this world.”
Hierax had stopped moving. He had been a large man, but his body looked strangely small now, curled against the stones, a dark pool spreading beneath him. Ichos knelt beside his father, looking ill. But at Lacheron’s words he stood and drew his sword. He leapt from the dais, placing himself between the man and his sister.
“You’ll have to go through me first,” he growled, knuckles pale on the grip.
Lacheron gave a bitter laugh. “This is far beyond you, boy. Learn from your father’s mistakes.”
“I have,” said Ichos. “I learned not to trust you, you traitorous scum-licking pissmouth.”
Oh, well done. If she lived through this, she’d have to remember some of those.
Lacheron, on the other hand, was unimpressed. He merely arched a colorless brow. “I am no traitor. I am humanity’s savior. I will set us free from the callous cruelty of the fickle, so-called gods who rule our lives.”
“And give us over to their brother, instead?” Ichos scoffed. “That’s not freedom. That’s not salvation.”
The prince moved so quickly she barely had time to gasp. A single vicious slash of his sword across Lacheron’s throat. A killing blow.
And yet the man did not fall. Only grimaced, lifting one hand to the bloody wound. Crimson dripped between his fingers. “It will take more than that, boy,” he croaked. He lowered his hand. “Witness what the First One can offer.”
Ichos swore. A stir of startled mutters spun through the uneasy crowd. The gaping slit of raw flesh shivered, knitting itself together. A heartbeat and even the blood was fading.
Lacheron went on, his voice growing stronger with every word. “Knowledge beyond any common alchemy. Life beyond the limits of our flesh. Yes, this world will fall. But it will be remade. Better. Stronger.” He spread his arms wide, triumphant. “I have walked this earth for three centuries, thanks to my lord’s gifts.”
“Ah,” said Ichos. “You know, if he’d let you keep your hair, I might actually be impressed.”
Good. Keep him talking.Sephre was edging sideways, inch by inch, trying to work her way into position to strike. She would have one chance. The blade of oblivion could end her life as easily as it had Hierax’s. And yet according to the Maiden—Martigone—it was also the only thing that could kill Lacheron. Which made it worth the risk.
That was when she noticed the girl again. The capable one, who had been creeping toward Hierax earlier. She had coiled herself tight, perfectly positioned so that Lacheron would not see her.
Sephre eyed Lacheron’s dagger. That blade had already destroyed one god and one king. The girl might take Lacheron by surprise, but would she be quick enough to avoid that merciless blade?
The girl seemed to be harboring similar doubts. Then her gaze skimmed past Lacheron, onto Sephre. Brown eyes, deep and warm. Such young eyes, full of fury, and something else. Dedication, devotion, passion. Had her own eyes ever looked so brave and hopeful? Maybe once. Maybe still.
Sephre knew what she had to do. She straightened, abandoning her efforts to sneak up on the Heron. She’d always preferred a face-to-face battle. Today was no different.
“Ember King,” she called out. “Your daughter has a message for you.”
Lacheron jerked toward her, skin paling around the lips. “You. You remember?”
The girl made her move, swift as a serpent. Between one blink and the next she was upon Lacheron, knocking aside the dagger of oblivion, sending the weapon skittering away across the stones. She did not go after it. Instead she tore at the man, pulling something from his other hand: the red amulet he had used earlier to trap the Phoenix.
